Career Advice
by Green Eyed Lady
Summary: Minerva McGonagall discusses futures with the class of ’78, and discovers some potential volunteers for Dumbledore’s latest idea. Lots of characterisation-emphasis. Part 5/5 up.
1. I Black, Sirius : Monday, 9:00

**Disclaimer: The following is not purely original fiction, but rather characters, settings, and situations as created by J.K. Rowling. _No money is being made of this piece of fanfiction and can not be reproduced for any purposes but strictly private entertainment.   
_**  
  


**Career Advice  
**All fifth years will be required to attend a short meeting with their Head of House during the first week of the Summer term, in which they will be given the opportunity to discuss their future careers. Times of individual appointments are listed below.   


  
Table of Contents:  
I - Black, Sirius; Monday, 9:00  
II - Evans, Lily; Monday, 1:30  
III - Lupin, Remus; Tuesday, 2:40  
IV - Pettigrew, Peter; Wednesday, 9:00  
V - Potter, James; Wednesday, 1:30  
  
_(All various other Gryffindor fifth-years conveniently overlooked. A brief enlightenment on what Severus Snape of Slytherin's consultation consisted of is included in Part V. Part II is noticeably shorter than the others because Miss Evans, unlike everyone's favourite pranksters, is not a problem child. That Miss Evans's and Mr Potter's consultation times are the same was accidental, but the author stoutly refused to change it after noticing such because of the happily ironic nature of the concurrence.)_  
  
  
**I - Black, Sirius; Monday, 9:00**  
  
Minerva had been doing this for the tenth year now, and knew there was usually quite an element of awkwardness in these meetings.   
  
The majority of students that came in were nervous, if for no other reason than having to share their ambitions (or lack thereof) with a teacher renown for giving out many detentions within her office. They didn't quite meet her eye; they sat in very uncomfortable positions; occasionally, they stuttered, but more often they either spoke much more softly or loudly than was their wont, and the most intelligent of them sometimes wound up saying stupid things that they were obviously embarrassed about and would wither in shame hours later over.   
  
She liked to see those sort, actually. The ones who weren't nervous were often the hardest to deal with. They either really didn't care, which made Minerva's job quite difficult, or were so confident that they were often arrogant. A very few of the calm ones truly had anything to be calm about.   
  
None of them seemed to realise that Minerva was often feeling as discomfited as they were. There were always a few students who had ambitions that she had to break them gently of. She couldn't imagine seeing much of it this year - they had a very outstanding group of Gryffindors, including three of the most brilliant students in anyone's recent memory, who would be able to garner all the requirements needed for whatever they chose.   
  
The girls were going to be all right. She had already had her first consultation, with Amy Ashcroft, which had been very routine - nerves, twirling of hair, steadfast advice on classes. Three other young witches were capable and unambitious souls; quite easy to deal with. And then Lily Evans was one of the three aforementioned prodigy students. They would work out all right.   
  
Minerva was more concerned about the boys. She had to prepare to lecture the first, dash the hopes of the next two, and then deal with an extremely cocksure Potter.   
  
'Let's take them one at a time,' she murmured to herself. She was laying out the goods and ammunition to deal with Sirius Black, marks and reports from all of his classes. All of the remarks hinted at the exact same thing Minerva felt - '_has much potential_', '_sadly lacks the inclination to apply himself_', '_exceedingly intelligent_', '_rejects what he is taught_', '_has a great deal of magical ability_', '_coasts on natural talent_', '_does well in practical applications and scenarios… except when his temper interferes_'.   
  
When all was said and done, it was typical too-clever teenage boy, but Black didn't have that much more time to apply himself. The Black family was shrouded in a great deal of suspicion. Black rejected his family's rather dubious history, but his future employers mightn't know that. They weren't going to take kindly to a charismatic, handsome rich boy waltzing in, no matter how great his talent and intelligence was. Minerva wasn't so much afraid for his O.W.L.s - Black would get by very well. Unfortunately, if he didn't start putting some thought into things he was going to waste his N.E.W.T.s.   
  
Even apart from this, there were vicious circumstances building steam and momentum every day. It required rather more maturity from the best and brightest of their young witches and wizards than Black possessed.   
  
The door opened noisily, as Black banged it against the wall behind.   
  
Minerva took a deep breath before saying anything. Black wasn't going to pay any serious attention to a teacher who was yelling at him before they were fairly underway.   
  
'Hullo, Professor Mac,' he said, with a killing grin. Very handsome, young Sirius Black was, extraordinarily so, with beautiful pitch-black hair and that winning smile. He moved with a grace unusual for male adolescents, a grace that made girls walk into walls whenever he entered a room, and he hadn't done much good since he'd discovered this fact.  
  
'Good morning, Mr Black,' Minerva replied chillingly. 'Might I offer you the first piece of career advice? No one likes a potential employee to bang their doors against the wall. And I do wonder how you will get on by addressing them in a manner they've already asked you not to use?'   
  
'Sorry - that door _did _open pretty easily, didn't it?' Black was totally unabashed. 'Professor Mc_Gon_agall,' he added for good measure, drawing out her full name.   
  
'Close the door, Black.'   
  
He did so, rather subdued by her tone, if not her words.   
  
'And then take a seat,' continued Minerva.   
  
Black collapsed in the seat exaggeratedly; Minerva inwardly sighed. How on earth did boys like these twirl their teachers' hearts around his little finger? They were all a lot of fools for allowing it. Maybe half of it was pity. Minerva knew well enough that the cockiest were often the most insecure.   
  
Of course, she wouldn't cut herself a break; if half of it was because she felt pity for him - and James Potter - the other half was, indeed, because they charmed her over, like most everyone.   
  
Minerva began, not letting her voice or her guard down: 'Have you given any thoughts to what you want to pursue?'  
  
'Yes,' Black replied promptly, startling her.   
  
'Yes? Well?'  
  
'I want to open and run a Muggle garage.'   
  
She had not expected such a firm reply, nor such an answer, and wasn't sure if he was serious or not. Not to mention that she wasn't certain what a Muggle garage was.  
  
'Oh do you,' she said.   
  
'I've been learning a lot about Muggle mechanics,' said Black with some pride, making Minerva think that he might not be joking.   
  
She glanced down. 'You haven't taken Muggle Studies,' she said, stalling.   
  
'No,' Black scowled. 'My parents wouldn't let me. But I intend to kind of give myself a crash course on Muggle culture pretty shortly. It has to be more accurate than our classes, anyway.'   
  
'Black, you and I both know that, technically, you don't need to do much of anything, let alone learn a trade like mech - '  
  
'I don't intend to waste my life lazing around on the family fortune, thank you,' Black interrupted, growling with a dark scowl that twisted his handsome face into an expression almost frightening.   
  
'You're a very talented wizard,' Minerva began slowly, forgetting her resolution to rake him down and not stroke his ego anymore than it had already been stroked. 'It seems a shame to let that go to waste…'  
  
'Oh, I wouldn't abandon the wizarding world, you know,' Black said, with the careless, airy tone that so became his own brand of charisma. 'Couldn't, really - in spare time I'd do something to help with the war. I thought of being an Auror, actually, but then Peter's cousin told us about some of the tests for character and temper.' He grinned roughishly. 'I'd pass the first with flying colours, of course, but temper?'   
  
He had a point that Minerva couldn't contest, but it was a bit of a red herring anyway. She wondered which of the other points to tackle first.   
  
'How would you help with the war effort?'  
  
'Oh, I don't know, where I can,' Black shrugged. 'Not the Ministry as much - useless bureaucracy - but Remus's parents do things for Dumbledore, don't they? I'd volunteer to help Dumb - er, the headmaster - in a second.'  
  
Minerva frowned thoughtfully. Black was _very _young - but on the other hand, they needed young witches and wizards, ones who recognised the situation. Black obviously had some idea - he had called it a 'war', after all.   
  
Dumbledore had been discussing with her the idea of organising those he had doing various tasks against the Death Eaters and their leader, into some sort of network or order.   
  
Apparently Black mistook her frown. 'Erm, sorry, was that something I wasn't supposed to know? Trust me, I wouldn't tell anyone - '  
  
'No, no.' Minerva physically waved that away. 'I know all about - _Professor _- Dumbledore's work against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named - and the Lupins.' Who had been so overwhelmed with gratitude toward Dumbledore that they hadn't hesitated for a second, even knowing that what had happened to Mrs Lupin - missing, condition unknown - could happen. 'I was merely thinking over something. Yes, I think the headmaster would accept your help - if and _only _if you started taking things more soberly than you tend to.'   
  
Black sighed excessively.   
  
'Yes, that's right, Black; I'm about to lecture.'   
  
'Fire away.'  
  
She scowled at him. 'Not _fire away_. Why don't you take a look at what I've underlined here.'   
  
He grinned cheekily, taking the reports from her. 'Why, flattered, charmed, I am; they have so much to say about me!'  
  
'Yes they do,' Minerva replied grimly. 'Pity half of it is about how you would be one of the greatest wizards ever to pass through this school in the past century - if you'd only apply yourself!'   
  
'But' - and his eyes went round and dewy with mock innocence - 'I _do _apply myself, Professor,' he whined. 'What more do you want me to do, sweep "Outstanding"s in _everything_?'   
  
'You could - isn't that the sad thing! You could. Put as much effort as some of the other students and you could.'  
  
He started to laugh.   
  
'Don't laugh, Black! You said you don't want to laze around and let your family's blood and Galleons tide you over, didn't you? Well, this is quite the same. Your own natural talent and intelligence is no more to your credit than your surname - but you have no qualms about skirting by on _that_.'  
  
If she had slapped him across the face, Black would be wearing the exact same expression as he was now.   
  
'No,' he said. 'No, I don't.'  
  
Minerva ignored the non seqitur and went on a little more gently. 'You'll be able to do anything you want, but that's only if you put some effort into it.'  
  
'But I really do want to open the garage,' Black said soberly.   
  
She couldn't help raising an eyebrow, despite her policy of always encouraging her students' vocations. 'All right. Let's hypothetically pretend that this fails.'  
  
'You just said that I can do anything if I put effort into it!' Black grinned brightly at her, apparently over his solemn mindframe.   
  
'It always helps to have something in mind in case, for whatever reason, it doesn't work out.'  
  
'Well, if my garage fails I'll work for someone else's.' Black was irrepressible.   
  
She sighed. 'Then I wish you luck. I still think you should also make sure you don't waste your chance at N.E.W.T. classes.'   
  
'What should I take?'  
  
Minerva was still hoping that, in the end, someone would make him a wizarding offer that would end this garage bit. 'Well, as you have no wizarding ambitions, I would play your strengths and do your best to achieve high marks on those subjects for both the O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. You cannot blow off the O.W.L.s, in that case - the N.E.W.T. classes generally have high standards. For example, you cannot take my Advanced Transfiguration if you get anything lower than "Exceeds Expectations" on your O.W.L.'  
  
Black smirked. 'I think I can manage that.'  
  
'There's that high opinion of your abilities again.'  
  
He was contrite. 'Sorry. Didn't mean to. I just - well, I've done some - independent projects, one might say, in regards to the great art of Transfiguration.' He was still wearing a rather smug smile.   
  
'I know, and the Slytherins hardly thank you for them,' she replied, although in truth she was terribly proud of the advanced level of the pranksters' transfiguration. 'I also think you should join the third-years' O.W.L.-level Muggle Studies.' Black looked horrified; Minerva smiled. 'Yes, Black, the third-years. I'll write your parents. You won't get standarised testing credits for it, but at least you'll get the knowledge and the exam marks.'   
  
'All right,' he grumbled, but there was a mischievous glint in his eyes that made Minerva wonder if she should have thrown the third-years to his mercy.   
  
'I think that's about it, then,' she said matter-of-factly. '_Do_ try your best to do as well as you can, Muggle garage or no - bragging rights, at the very least, are always nice.'  
  
He grinned at her, obviously agreeing. 'Hear, hear. Fine. I'll see what I can do.' He stood up.  
  
'One more thing I suggest,' he threw out to him, catching Black more off his guard now that he had decided that the interview had ended. 'I would ask Pettigrew's cousin more questions about the Auror character tests. You might never take them for the Aurors - but life tends to give its own character tests.'   
  
'Ah, but why take the same test twice, then?' Black smirked, closing the door behind him much more gently than he had entered.   
**  
TBC**


	2. II Evans, Lily : Monday, 1:30

**A/N: I'm terribly sorry for not being able to acknowledge the reviewers from last chapter. On that particular page and that one only, ff.net keeps saying that the site is experiencing an overload. (Why is the review page overloaded? The story should be! Sheesh! *mock glare*) But thanks to all five of you; I read and appreciated, and will thank you properly when I can get onto the page again.**  
**  
II - Evans, Lily; Monday, 1:30**  
  
Almost ten minutes past one-thirty, and Lily Evans had not arrived.  
  
Minerva had been rather hoping to have all consultations finished no later than Wednesday. It was a bit premature to say how well and smoothly they were all going after seeing only two of the children, of course… In any case, Minerva had not expected it from Lily Evans. Punctuality generally went hand-in-hand with responsibility, which was a quality Evans had shown for years.   
  
She waited. It would hardly be the first time a student had forgotten their appointment, and often they'd be a little late. Actually, it was students like Evans that would forget much more quickly than the irresponsible and unacademic ones, who would remember when they had a chance to skip class long after they had forgotten their parents, ethics, Quidditch stats, and basic wand care skills.   
  
Evans was a bright girl, brimming and bursting with magical talent. She had her head on fairly straight right from the beginning, which set her apart from her classmates and made her something of a loner. She and her roommates got on very amiably, but there was no friendship. She was Muggle-born, but she took such an interest in everything wizarding, you would never have guessed her parentage, and anyway there were a lot of Muggle-borns who fitted in much better than Evans.   
  
She was studious, but hardly a Ravenclaw, and clever, but not excessively so, not in the way that alienated very intelligent students from their classmates. Minerva honestly couldn't place it. The girl was blunt, but wasn't rude or mean to anyone. She had a healthy sense of humour; she wasn't straightlaced or pompous or stiff.   
  
Minerva could scarcely understand the tricky ins and outs of female adolescents and their society when she herself had been one, and could hardly figure out why Lily Evans's position was what it was now. It didn't matter. Evans would be fine; she was magically and mentally strong. They had given her a prefect badge, an obvious choice; it had separated her even further from her peers and she didn't show any sign of caring.   
  
She arrived now, having obviously hurried, or embarrassed, or both, from what her pink face told. 'I'm sorry, Professor McGonagall,' she said, with a sheepish smile. 'One-thirty is right in the middle of History of Magic, and - ' She broke off awkwardly, and her embarrassment made her smile increase involuntarily. She was going downright red, now. 'Not a very good excuse, is it?'  
  
'You don't need to explain yourself to me further, Evans,' Minerva said dryly. Binns had taught her History of Magic as well - or, rather, he hadn't. Shut the door, if you please. I know History of Magic of old.'  
  
Evans relaxed as she obeyed. 'I have four and a half years' worth of notes on the first ten minutes of Professor Binns's lectures,' she chuckled wryly, losing some of her ashamed colour, and the two had to exchange a smile at that.  
  
Lily Evans stuck out sharply in a crowd, with noticeable red hair and even more noticeable emerald eyes. That along with her slender figure and peaches-and-cream complexion made her quite a pretty, if quite striking, girl. Perhaps that even explained some of her leper-like status. Jealousy.  
  
'Which, sadly, is ten more minutes than most,' Minerva commented as Evans sat down. 'Right then, Miss Evans. Have you given some thought to a possible career?'   
  
She hesitated slightly, as most people did when this question came up. 'Erm - actually, yes, I had a few ideas, in fact.'  
  
Minerva did not press her at this moment. 'Whatever you're looking at, the staff rests pretty much in agreement that you can complete the requirements for it.'   
  
Evans blushed some. 'Thanks. Well - I was looking through those pamphlets we've been bombarded with… well, see, I've pretty much narrowed it down to two, healing or an Auror.' Minerva was sufficiently impressed: an Auror was becoming a popular consideration, almost a trend, but Evans was never one to follow trends. And the idea of Healer was unexpected, but not unwelcome. 'I can't decide - but the requirements are very similar, aren't they?'  
  
'Very much so,' Minerva agreed. 'Both are a great deal of work, but that's never much stopped you before… let me look over - yes, you're managing perfectly well in all of those classes - Charms, Transfiguration, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Potions - Herbology for healing. You're averaging at least an "Exceeds Expectations" in them all… a very strong "Outstanding" in Charms… I don't think that will be a problem, will it?' She looked back up at Evans, who looked nervous again.   
  
'Yes - er, no, rather. In any case, I wanted to ask you…' She took a deep breath. 'When I look at being a Healer, I've a particular interest in - well, not the typical St Mungo's route. I mean - whenever there's an attack on Muggles, we generally wipe their memories and leave them to the mercy of their own doctors - that's what Muggles call Healers - and sometimes the damage is too extensive for Muggle medicine.' She paused. 'But we could heal it very easily.'   
  
'I see.'  
  
'I don't know how to go about finding a way to reach them, though. The Ministry forbids any unnecessary contact with Muggles during and after attacks - even for healing - unless it's something very obviously magical.' She was frowning slightly, but not getting overwrought. 'They don't seem to encourage what I'd like to do there. Which, I suppose, is why I'm also considering being an Auror - us witches and wizards will be healed, and I think I could do that, too, being an Auror I mean.'   
  
Minerva couldn't help but think of how Dumbledore could arrange ways for Evans to reach Muggles. This was the kind of idea he'd consider excellent, even more so because they had a willing volunteer. Minerva herself considered it an excellent idea, if it came to that.   
  
'The opportunity might come up,' Minerva began, trying very hard not to hint at Dumbledore's plans. 'I suggest that you study healing heavily even now. Madam Pomfrey occasionally takes an assistant.'  
  
'Only seventh-years, I've heard,' Evans said. 'And no one very recently.'   
  
'The demand hasn't been high.' Minerva couldn't help but think that Poppy was also showing more overprotective tendencies toward Lupin, her most regular patient. It wasn't like Poppy to get sentimental, but she was extremely aggressive when it came to protecting Lupin's health (often much to the boy's slight but obvious irritation). But Poppy would have to be persuaded to risk a few things, and to make an exception in the seventh-year rule. It was a war, after all, as Black had said, and they needed Healers. Poppy would be able to see that. 'It will make you very busy, however - you're aiming for high N.E.W.T.s in quite a few classes…'  
  
'With all due respect, Professor,' Evans said cheerfully, 'but most students are busy with Quidditch, the opposite gender, music, and hair. I'm not worried about any of them, so I always have time to spare.'   
  
'Don't speak too hastily. You're permitted an interest in any of the above.'   
  
'No interest.'   
  
'I find that the interest in boys at least usually comes, later if not sooner,' Minerva said dryly. 'But all the same I think there's some truth in what you say. Well, let's see if we've covered it all - I don't think you need Muggle Studies… if you have the time still, I suggest attending the evening lectures. They start for the sixth and seventh years on various topics, and there's also opportunities for Ministry-recognised credits on projects for them.'   
  
'All right,' nodded Evans.  
  
'Your one weakness seems to appear on theory exams.'  
  
'Yes,' she nodded again, dryly. 'I may be talented, but I'm not very clever. My memory is horrible; I wouldn't - ' She broke off, and then muttered, 'actually, I would wish it on my worst enemy.'   
  
'I wouldn't say horrible,' Minerva said mildly, inwardly startled. The war had been going on for years now, ever since Evans was a slight, little first-year. None of Minerva's other classes had shown such an interest in You-Know-Who. 'Just not quite as good. You'll be sure to study, I hope.'  
  
'Unfortunately, yes.'   
  
She liked this girl, all in all.   
  
'That concludes this interview, then, unless you've any other questions…'  
  
*  
  
She spoke with Dumbledore about it that evening.   
  
'Stands to reason,' he murmured, half to himself.   
  
'It seems quite abrupt to me,' Minerva said, rather annoyed because it didn't stand to her reason, which, she readily admitted, fell short of Dumbledore's. Everyone's did.   
  
'Well, the war has really only intensified this year. Voldemort's playing the game much more seriously - viciously - all the sudden.' He sighed. 'So this class has started noticing it to the extent that it comes up when they think of their future. Apparently they also think this will not be a short war that will end within two years…'  
  
'They think it, perhaps, but it's not as if they know,' Minerva said briskly.   
  
'Oh, children have great intuitions. If they think so, then I feel credence is lent to my own theory… they're very young, aren't they? Very strong, though.'  
  
'Quite bright,' Minerva agreed, somewhat reluctantly. It felt nearly brutal to recruit children. Of course, they would be of age within a year. On the other hand, with a life expectancy of one hundred and fifteen years, anything under thirty was still considered youth. But You-Know-Who _was _brutal, after all. 'And to think that they're the ones we're trying to protect…'  
  
'We're protecting the ones after us. After Miss Evans and Mr Black, even.' Dumbledore's words were cold; his tone was not. He brightened somewhat. 'Do keep an eye and ear out for anymore mentions of a wish to fight against Voldemort - ' Minerva winced; Dumbledore was really impossible ' - and I do believe I shall throw a hint to our other Heads of Houses to do the same.'   
  
**TBC  
**


	3. III Lupin, Remus : Tuesday, 2:40

**A/N: Now that we've all agreed the last chapter was bad... Lily and I will discuss things tonight. It's not often that we fudge up when we work together, but you, dear readers, and I seem to think that there's a first time for everything and last chapter was it.   
  
Happy Fourth of July to all Americans. :-)  
  
And thanks to reviewers auroraziazan, Ice, LaurelRose **(I intend to email you a reply... when I have the moment)**, lelegurl9, Moonrose **(you too), **R. Laurentiis **(very nicely Latin, that is)**,** **Saerelle, and Zetta.**  
**  
III - Lupin, Remus; Tuesday, 2:40 **  
  
Minerva did not have far to go to find someone else interested in the fight against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.   
  
It was quite convenient for everyone involved to have Remus Lupin's consultation near the end of the day, where if their talk ran over the token ten minutes he wouldn't miss any more class than he'd already had. One might say that Minerva had been quite pleased it worked out that way. One might say that she had deliberately set about ensuring that this happened. One might say that she had noted the expediency of how easy it was to mix up the names of her next two Gryffindors - Remus Lupin, Proserpina Lutz. One might say she had purposefully taken Miss Lutz ahead of Lupin, anticipating the much easier and shorter nature of Miss Lutz's appointment.   
  
Not that anyone would know, really. On the calendar it just looked as though old McGonagall had been afflicted with a bit of an off moment. The only person who might know was Lupin, and Minerva hoped that it wouldn't worry him unnecessarily.   
  
Remus Lupin had the somewhat dubious honour of being Hogwarts first lycanthropic student. With it came the equally dubious responsibility of ensuring that he was not the last. Minerva knew that had worried Dumbledore - it had worried her as well. But they were halfway through his schooling and nothing had gone wrong yet.   
  
For the most part, Lupin was a good student, with considerable magical and mental ability. He tended to get mixed up with some troublemaking every so often, which Minerva had to resign herself to being a fact of life when the student in question was a roommate and close friend to both Sirius Black and James Potter. His marks were nothing to be ashamed of, and he had enough of a work ethic to have landed him in Hufflepuff had Gryffindor not won out - despite missing classes monthly he always managed his schoolwork. Responsible, dutiful, respectful, and also quick to learn and to experiment. Not to mention quick-witted into the bargain. Had be been an ordinary young man Minerva would have never worried about him. Except that he wasn't.   
  
It was strange, Minerva thought. She had a horde of exceptional adolescents on her hands, all with healthy minds and talents, and yet she still had to worry over them more than the mediocre ones.   
  
She had to worry over Lupin because the prejudice and discrimination against werewolves was extremely high, especially so as of late because of the war and the fear it was striking into everyone's hearts. Lupin wasn't quite on the same level of brilliance as Black, Evans, and Potter (few were), but he should have had nearly as many doors open to him.   
  
They weren't open. And Minerva wasn't sure which would be worse - if she was the one to have to tell the boy that, or if he already knew it.   
  
The knock on the door came at precisely two-forty.   
  
'Come in,' and, when she saw it was indeed Lupin, 'come in and take a seat. Close the door, as well.'   
  
He did so, placing his schoolbag to the floor at the door. 'Didn't have time to put it back in my dormitory, sorry - ' Minerva nodded dismissively. Lupin had the same attack of eggshelly nerves that most everyone else had fallen prey to, if apologising for something so trivial was any sign.   
  
Lupin was usually a surprisingly self-possessed young man, at least of the last two years or so. It could never be mistaken for Black's overconfidence, however; it was more likely to be mistaken for softness. Lupin was a sickly-looking boy whose transformations kept him slight and thin when the other wizards of his year were in the midst of growth spurts. Something, probably his typical consideration or the light brown hair that curled around his ears in a rather adorably boyish way, made all the girls who resisted Potter and Black's considerable charms gaze his way instead. Lupin's usual reaction was not to be flustered but rather to steadfastly ignore this.   
  
'Well,' Minerva began. This was different from classes, where, of course, Lupin was any other student. She had modified her usual starting-off question slightly. 'Have you given any thought to your future after Hogwarts, Lupin?'  
  
'Yes, ma'am. I've made several inquiries over the last summer, as well.'  
  
He didn't look as though the response to the inquiries had been very encouraging. Minerva's usual expression softened sympathetically. 'And how did it go?'  
  
Hesitating, he made an attempt to actually meet her eyes. 'Badly.' It was a very simple one-word review.   
  
'Have you had a chance to discuss this with your parents at any point?'  
  
Lupin shook his head. 'I haven't been able to contact either of them in several months. The last time we talked of it was before I came to Hogwarts, and things were a little - different, then.'   
  
'At any rate, you're aware of what you're against.' Lupin nodded. 'There are quiet a few professions that you're out-and-out barred from. Elsewhere… there's quite some…' An appropriate word had fled from what vocabulary she could grasp.  
  
'Quite some reluctance to hire a werewolf,' Lupin finished.   
  
'Yes.' She considered him and then started rustling the reports that she had set at the ready.   
  
He continued before she could. 'The best I can do, really, is to do well in the standarised tests.'  
  
'From the looks of it, you'll be doing decently enough. Yes, you might as well work extra-hard in preparation - and what else I would suggest is taking on a well-rounded schedule for next year.' She ran her finger down Lupin's master sheet of current marks and averages. 'All year you've had a tendency to improve in all of your classes. I truly think it would be for the best to concentrate on quantity, which, trust me, is not the advice I usually give. If some opportunity comes up, it's in your best interest to have the credentials. It sounds harsh, however…'  
  
'Beggars can't be choosers?' Lupin suggested wryly.   
  
She gave him a slight warning look. That was not necessarily the mentality she wanted, not with such a promising student. 'Not quite the way I wanted to finish my sentence. However, you'll have to start somewhere to prove yourself. If that start comes up, it would be a shame to say you can't because you never earned a N.E.W.T. in one subject. Take everything you can. Let's see…'  
  
Minerva considered things. When all was said, Lupin was only physically able to take ten classes. 'In most of the seven basic classes, you seemed poised for an O.W.L., and in many, you'll probably be invited to take the Advanced course. Potions…'  
  
Lupin paled, which was saying something considering that he hadn't much colour to begin with. 'I'm much more worried about scraping an O.W.L.; I'll never get into the Advanced class.'   
  
'Well, very well… it's a shame, very useful class… you've yet to earn an "Exceeds Expectations" in my Transfiguration class, and if you don't on the O.W.L. then that's also out… Astronomy - you've a consistent "Exceeds Expectations", but I assure you, it's not a subject that carries much weight in most fields, and I would advise you against it…' She scanned the parchment. 'In all the rest, however, you stand a good chance of an O.W.L. and advancement… yes, Lupin, History of Magic, too,' she said, amused at his groan. 'A N.E.W.T. in History of Magic is rarely a requirement, but in Ministry and journalism it's a weighty advantage, and journalism might be a possibility that's open to you…'  
  
'What do you need to advance in History of Magic?' Lupin asked calmly, although Minerva knew full well that he would be complaining later to his roommates, out of her earshot.  
  
'Just an O.W.L., a pass.' She felt compelled to add: 'If it were anything more the class would be smaller than it already is, and I assure you it's quite small.'   
  
'All right. What about the other classes?'   
  
'I advise you to try for advancement in the three you're taking, and to take additional O.W.L. courses for whatever classes you leave after this year, probably Transfiguration, Potions, and Astronomy, if not all of them. It leaves you with a very demanding schedule, so if you'd rather not it's understandable. However, the exam marks and experience might also help you.'   
  
Lupin nodded.   
  
'But I don't want you to neglect quality altogether - I see that you seem to be averaging "Outstanding" in Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts, and Arthimancy. Gaining that mark in both the O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s would be a great asset, and from what I'm reading your professors in all three subjects think that's possible. And I see no reason to get anything less than that in quite a few of your O.W.L.s.'   
  
Lupin looked shocked. 'An "O", you mean?'  
  
'Yes.'  
  
His usual straightbacked posture fled him as he nearly collapsed in the chair. 'What're the "quite a few" O.W.L.s we're discussing here?'  
  
'Quit the melodrama, Mr Lupin,' Minerva ordered dryly.  
  
He frowned, looking thoroughly confused.   
  
'It's a very simple conclusion to make,' Minerva said. 'You're one of the year's top students, and - '  
  
He was staring at her incredulously. 'You're not speaking with James or Sirius or Lily Evans.'   
  
'I know that, Lupin,' she snapped. 'And I really hope you're not comparing yourself to those three…' Then she realised he might well be. Rarely did anyone speaking of academics talk of anyone but the aforementioned three, and Dumbledore had never advocated posting class rank. She searched for her own copy.   
  
'Concentrated in our House's fifth-years is an enormous amount of talent… Miss Evans and Misters Potter and Black are the sort of students we come across once a decade. Making comparisons about yourself to them is not a very good idea… here it is.' She unfurled it and smoothed it out. 'In an average of marks from all classes, we have those three, and the token few Ravenclaws… and then there you are.'  
  
Lupin glanced at it. 'Oh,' he said sheepishly. 'I had no idea.'   
  
'You should have. Academics are not the only criteria for selecting prefects, but it's a large part of it.' She nodded to his Gryffindor prefect badge. (Poppy Pomfrey had put up a very large fight against that particular selection. As it happened, Lupin did look considerably more haggard this year than he had any year before… but Minerva wasn't giving Poppy the satisfaction of admitting as much so long as Lupin was nowhere near a stressed-out nervous collapse.)   
  
'Right,' she said briskly. 'Kindly do not mention to anyone that I showed you that… strictly speaking, it's not encouraged to show students the ranking. Now,' she continued, rolling it up, 'are we now quite clear on everything?'   
  
'Yes, Professor.'   
  
'Lastly, I encourage you to attend the evening lectures and to participate in the projects. It's one more thing to tack onto your schooling credentials, and the better they are, the better your chances.'  
  
'All right.'   
  
'Very well then.' She hesitated. At heart she was generally the worst of the softies, and she couldn't help but feel a few pricks of conscience at telling Lupin that his only chance for anything was to do just about everything, even though she wasn't at fault for the situation.  
  
She hadn't once asked him what he had an interest in.   
  
'What will you be looking into?' she enquired.   
  
He visibly startled. 'Looking into?'  
  
'Two years from now, what will you first be doing?'  
  
'Asking Professor Dumbledore if there's anything to do in the war effort,' he said, promptly as Black had expressed his burning ambition to be entrepreneur of a Muggle mechanic garage.   
  
Again! 'And if there's nothing?'  
  
'Children's safehouses. They need overseers.'   
  
She decided to continue in this vein. 'And if they won't allow you to? They're very edgy about lycanthropes around children, you know.'   
  
'The Ministry pays for people to set up wards and guards for the families of at-risk or targeted Muggle-borns,' he replied. 'They're also running out of such people rather quickly, so I think they might be desperate enough to take me.'  
  
'Your focus is becoming clear,' Minerva said. The attempt at dry levity failed.   
  
He shrugged. 'What else is there to focus on? This wizard doesn't seem on the verge of stopping, and the most anyone seems to be able to do is damage control. In two years it might be that everyone needs to turn to the war effort anyway. You know,' he continued, gathering steam, '_war_'s a bit of a misleading way to put it, isn't it? War implies a disagreement between two parties where they fight against each other. Its purpose is political. Usually you don't find that one side is either completely right or completely wrong. _This _is completely different. This is a wizard who wants nothing less than complete domination and freedom to murder whoever he feels isn't worthy.'   
  
Minerva was somewhat taken aback. So was Lupin, apparently; he finished this by cutting short and looking embarrassed.   
  
'You're wrong only in that it's _not _merely a disagreement between two parties,' she replied. 'It is. Taken to extreme, ridiculous lengths. And, like most wars, the issue - pureblood and Muggles - is a red herring.' He nodded. 'So I see you've considered this quite seriously. Did you consider being an Auror?'  
  
'That was one of the inquiries I made. They didn't have a definite answer, but it didn't look very hopeful, and I wasn't about to slave over Potions if it was going to come to nothing.'   
  
'I see.' She paused, surveying him, and after noticing his discomfort at the long silence, said: 'Well, then this is about it, then. You'll be putting in a lot of studying, I hope?'  
  
He nodded as he stood.   
  
She was seized by a sudden, irrational curiosity. 'Lupin?'  
  
'Yes'm?'   
  
'Let's take away the factors of your lycanthropy and the war,' she said, not realising that just a short three days before she never referred to the current state as a 'war'. 'What would you be looking into then?'   
  
'I - erm… w - I haven't thought about it.' His conscience apparently started immediately shouting at him, for he added quickly: 'Not much. But, well, I - I've considered - teaching.' He was reddening, and it didn't stop after he'd revealed this. In fact, he looked thoroughly and miserably embarrassed at admitting such a hopeless desire.   
  
'Did you?' It didn't come as a complete shock. She had seen over the past year that Lupin volunteered for tutoring duty much more often than corridor patrol (something that other reluctant tutor-prefects were glad to hand to him).   
  
'It was - I don't even know if - I may even like the idea because it came as a challenge, I don't know, but a lot of times back around second year my roommates would say to me that I could arrange such and such a class - mainly History of Magic - better than it had just been… and I thought they were insane, and told them so, but you know, as soon as I said it I started wondering how I could… and I like tutoring, here and back home… we live in a small village…'   
  
She nodded, rather sadly. She was almost certain there was a clause in the Werewolf Code of Conduct barring that to him. 'Just curious. You could have - you would be able to do that. Well, you have a good evening.'  
  
'You too, Professor McGonagall.' Lupin left in an extreme hurry.   
  
**TBC  
**


	4. IV Pettigrew, Peter : Wednesday, 9:00

**A/N: Thank you to reviewers auroraziazan, Bebop Valentine, Ice **(indeed, but Remus is, after all, a teenage boy - as of the moment - and would probably be furious if he heard you say that)**,** **kateydidn't** (so have you read the Katy books, as I assume from the name? excellent series and no one seems to be aware of its existence)**, LaurelRose, and Trinity Day.  
  
Now review again on your knees thanking me for faithfully updating according to schedule even though it is - da dum da dum! - my birthday. Yes, that's right, and kind enough to format a new chapter anyway. My Hogwarts owl is four years late, but I'm still not giving up hope.   
  
One last note concerning this chapter: I'm sticking to canon closely as possible, considering this has borrowed its whole theme from the books. However, even more tragic, in my eyes, than THE DEATH is that Harry's trip down Snape's memory lane revealed Peter to actually be as personality-less as a kid as all those teenybopper bad!fic insisted for years. That's quite sad. I've worked as much as I could with that characterisation.   
  
But I refuse to keep that characterisation for most of my other fics.   
  
(P.S. So I was wrong. Didn't update on my birthday, as ff.net wasn't working that day.)   
  
IV - Pettigrew, Peter; Wednesday, 9:00**  
  
He could have saved at least some face had he remembered to knock, but neither did Pettigrew remember to do that.   
  
'Erm,' he cut off, staring from Minerva to Niobe Newett, who was giving him a practiced derogatory once-over that she probably gave him at least twice a day. 'I th-thought it w-w-was m-my…'  
  
'No, it's mine,' Newett told him coolly.   
  
'Nine o'clock, Pettigrew.'  
  
'Right.'   
  
*  
  
Niobe Newett had brought up a paradoxical intricacy in the requirements, and so before Pettigrew came back, Minerva had decided to hurry over to the staff room to examine the pamphlet for herself.   
  
Unfortunately the room was not empty - Tacitus Thornton, Head of Slytherin, had moved one of the armchairs over to the window and was staring outside with the eerie expression that made him look so like a madman.   
  
'Good morning, Professor McGonagall,' he greeted her without turning around. In addition to formal, his voice had grown much chillier than his norm.   
  
'Professor Thornton, hello.' She made a point of bustling around, searching through a haphazard pile on the table, very noisily, to show that she was in a hurry and not up for one of his strange conversations. The ones that were part and parcel with his more insane moods.   
  
'I've just about finished my fifth-years,' Thornton said conversationally. 'Just Miss Zambini to go.'   
  
'Very nicely on schedule,' Minerva said crisply, somehow feeling insulted that she had three more on her hands, as if it were a race of some sort.   
  
'Yes,' he said, tonelessly. 'I was just speaking with Severus Snape.'  
  
'Oh, had you?' Minerva could not feign total disinterest. They all had a good idea that whatever Severus Snape was going to do, it wasn't something he was going to discuss with his Head of House. He was really quite brilliant in select subjects, and passed the others respectably. He was trouble waiting to happen, though, and the faculty had always held him in the corner of their eye. No child should know that amount of curses, and pandemonium always seemed to follow him, despite his apparent reserve.   
  
'He says he intends to join the Potions Guild.' Thornton's voice held an unshed sigh, which was one of the more uncanny things about him. He continued in his same dreary tone: 'It's a cover, of course…'   
  
Minerva felt chills crawling along her spine.   
  
'… he will further his interest and knowledge in the Dark Arts, I know that well… he is my most promising student.' Thornton stood up soundlessly. 'Or would have been.'   
  
She knew not what to say to that. With the pamphlet in hand, she was frozen to the spot. Thornton was still gazing out of the window, but his words seemed to find and cut her.   
  
'I hate Voldemort,' he said, slowly yet with no apparent venom. 'Him and his ilk, the Rogue and the Death Eaters and Grindelwald and Voldemort. In one century they have suckled away everything good - and promising - and noble - and honourable - in Slytherin - and have inverted it for their own purposes.' A pause. 'Voldemort especially.' Another pause. 'I would so love to kill him,' he finished, longingly, dreamily.   
  
_You and so many others_, Minerva reflected.   
  
'It's his fault… the source of everything that's tearing my House apart…'  
  
'The prejudice, you mean?' Minerva was trying to break the heavy, unnatural atmosphere by her usual briskness. It failed.   
  
'The prejudice.' His voice was not accusing; it was in the same tone as it had been throughout their conversation. 'It started ruining Severus Snape and now Voldemort himself will finish it… but Voldemort would never have been able to touch my student had not your students made him vulnerable first… had not Potter started the task.' This time he did sigh. 'But he did, and a great young mind will be blackened and destroyed by Voldemort's hand.' Thornton turned at last and nodded courteously at Minerva. 'Good day, Professor McGonagall,' he said in the same distant tone, and left.   
  
She stared at the door he had exited through for some time before jumping and realising that it was five past nine.   
  
*  
  
Peter Pettigrew was always afflicted by a case of the world's worst luck. Magical talent could have compensated his faulty memory but it hadn't, and the absence of both could have been made up for my persistence, patience, and hard work - but neither did that crop up.   
  
Unfortunately, Minerva's pity ended there. Because the latter three weren't gifts, they were acquired qualities. Black and Potter's tendency to skirt by and slack off seemed to have rubbed off greatly on Pettigrew, or perhaps Pettigrew had been like that to begin with. In any case, there was no reason why he couldn't at least apply himself to the theory part of exams - but he didn't do that much, either. Pettigrew was found studying the morning of exams. If he passed, that was good. If he didn't, he could cheat.   
  
*  
  
Minerva, indeed, found him waiting, standing awkwardly by the chair and visibly more nervous than any other student thus far - in that year, in, quite possibly, all of Minerva's ten years doing this. He was trembling.   
  
'I'm quite sorry, Mr Pettigrew.' She sat down, putting Newett's pamphlet inside of one drawer.   
  
'Q-Quite all right,' Pettigrew said with a shaky little laugh. 'I m-missed it once, and n-now y-y-you - we're even now.'   
  
'That's so,' Minerva agreed, pleased to hear the attempt at humour. Pettigrew always reacted much more differently when separated from his cahoots; when forced to, he could be able and would stand on his own feet. It might've been better for him to not have met his roommates. 'Take a seat, why don't you. No point in wasting more time.' She started shuffling through her folders, putting away the records Newett and searching for the records Pettigrew. 'Now, have you given any thought to your future career?'   
  
'E-Erm… yes. I mean, some… I haven't c-come up w-with much…'  
  
Minerva was trying the old standby of pointing out his strong points. Problem being that Pettigrew didn't seem to _have _a strong point. His marks were dismal all around. She should've left off finding that pamphlet and dealing with the mad Thornton; she hadn't gotten around to looking through his reports… a note from Rara Avia of Ancient Runes caught her eye. She was only half paying attention to what Pettigrew was saying.   
  
'… knew some contacts in the Ministry - '  
  
'Here it seems you have a flair for Ancient Runes, Pettigrew,' Minerva cut in, torn in half by disbelief and excitement.   
  
'W-Well - y-yes, some I guess, b-but when it comes to ex-exams I, I get too nervous and flunk t-them…'  
  
'Yes, that's what Professor Avia says.'   
  
'I un-understand it, though… it all makes a lot of s-s-sense… that and chess; I h-have useless t-talents…'   
  
'Chess?' Minerva took off her reading glasses and examined him. 'You do well at chess, Pettigrew?'  
  
Perhaps she shouldn't have sounded so sceptical - it was making Pettigrew all the more flustered, maybe even resentful, which was what he sounded when he replied, defiantly:  
  
'Yes.' And then, 'Yes, I've never lost a game to anyone except my grandfather.'   
  
Minerva was floored - but not in a bad way; no, not at all… why hadn't these gifts ever come to light before?   
  
'You should concentrate on Ancient Runes, Pettigrew,' she said firmly, forgetting her planned lecture, the one so similar to the one she had thrown at Black. It had been effective on Black, too, even if he had only regarded it for a mere moment, but perhaps some encouragement would help Pettigrew just as much. 'Not many do well with that area, and the Ministry has a whole subdepartment for that study - '  
  
'B-But I can never do the exams!' Pettigrew protested.   
  
'Oh, don't talk nonsense, Pettigrew - you'll have to learn to deal with a case of nerves the way all of us do…' Minerva was rather distracted, pulling out a spare sheet of parchment and unscrewing an inkstand. 'Don't you want to go on with that field?'  
  
'W-Well, it's, it's a-as g-g-good as a-anything else…'   
  
Minerva gritted her teeth, hating that attitude, but if Pettigrew couldn't pick anything just now, then she would for him. 'I want you to take the O.W.L. Arthimancy course as well.' (She had never remembered recommending so many O.W.L. courses in the same year before.)   
  
'Arthimancy! Th-That's the, the h-hardest class - '  
  
'Nonsense! Not for people whose minds work the way you do! There - now, let's look at what other classes you're passing in.'  
  
'That's a sh-short list,' Pettigrew muttered despondently.   
  
'You'd be doing very well at least on the theory if you only ever put any effort into things, something you've always seemed to think was beneath you,' snapped Minerva, looking over the list. 'Charms - yes, with some work I don't see why you can't get an "Exceeds Expectations" in Charms, same for Herbology. Potions, possibly… and if Professor Sinistra accepts you for her Advanced Astronomy I don't see any reason for you not to accept.'   
  
'Th-That's six classes,' Pettigrew protested. 'If I o-only n-n-n-need th-the, the R-R-Run…' He never finished the sentence, quailed by the furious glare Minerva sent his way. She couldn't help it. Pettigrew always had a way of arousing her temper, and right now he was being frankly ridiculous.   
  
'Most people try to take a class or two more than their requirements demand, particularly when the requirements are so few,' said Minerva. 'Do tell me what you intend to do rather than schoolwork the next two years and perhaps we'll work a compromise.'  
  
He was silent.  
  
'Of course you don't _have _to listen to me… wizards have long life expectancies, Pettigrew, and few stay in the same field their whole lives - '  
  
'Long l-life expectancies,' snorted Pettigrew. 'I'm a wizard and a Gryffindor and You-K-Know-Who is o-out terrorising the country - I'll be d-dead f-five years after l-leaving sc-school…' In spite of his careless words, his bravado was straining. Death was not something Peter Pettigrew was embracing with open arms.   
  
Pettigrew was a regular frame-full of bravado. Minerva supposed that children like Pettigrew needed bravado, even with protectors like his roommates. No doubt he had been the centre of a bully's attention more than once in his fifteen years. With his stringy blond hair, pouting lips, big pale blue eyes, and overweight frame, he looked as though someone had pre-ordered him from a cataloge: 'one schoolboy victim, yours for a reduced price during our not-so-exclusive holiday and everyday sale…'   
  
That sort of position, especially when they were saved from their fate by a new and protective set of friends, might have encouraged some children to try all the harder. It hadn't Pettigrew, who simply hadn't a shred of Slytherin in him, a sad lack, for had he then he might have had the motivation to actually study and try. But perhaps if he realised that he could go far in ancient runes, then he would come around… Minerva hoped so.   
  
She was also noting her ratio thus far. Ten children, eight already spoken with, and four had mentioned He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.   
  
'That's hardly a foregone conclusion,' Minerva retorted. 'In career consultations, we usually operate under the assumption that one will live long enough for the consultation to be of any use.'  
  
Pettigrew flinched. He had a true fear of death - for himself, and possibly for others.   
  
'I would have your mother look into her Ministry contacts and see what's open for you in this field, and to find their requirements,' Minerva continued. 'I don't know much of the field. However, you should try to achieve as many as possible.'  
  
'A-All right,' replied a subdued Pettigrew.   
  
'And I'm certain there will be an evening lecture concerning Ancient Runes, so you'd best attend and participate in that as well.'  
  
Pettigrew nodded, twitching a little, a nervous tic, even though the interview was heading toward a conclusion and everyone was in one piece.   
  
'Are there any other suggestions you would like to discuss?' Minerva inquired.   
  
He shook his head, almost vehemently. He was eying the door. Minerva sighed inwardly. Her harshness had ruined the meeting; he was no longer thinking of his alive future but rather his dead one.   
  
Then again, if Pettigrew were so certain that he was doomed, perhaps he would be quite willing to risk his life if any hope was promised that it would vanquish the dangers.   
  
Minerva, of course, was thinking of Dumbledore's order.   
  
**TBC  
  
**


	5. V Potter, James : Wednesday, 1:30

**A/N: Much gratitude to everyone who has reviewed so far: Auri, auroraziazan, Bebop Valentine, Ice, Iniga, kateydidn't, LaurelRose, lelegurl9, Moonrose, R. Laurentiis, SugarCrazedFish (also Saerelle), Trinity Day, and Zetta. I'm really glad to know that you've all enjoyed and even more grateful for the tips, suggestions, criticism, etc., and also the opinions and insights into the canon and characterisations themselves.   
  
I went through this chapter with a much more fine-toothed comb than I usually do (although I assure you that, despite my apparent load of mistakes, I do proofread through at least twice). However, if anyone has free time on your hands, feel free to take another chapter and beta the thing. You can copy and paste it directly or email me and I'll send you an rtx file, either-or, and it would be much appreciated.   
  
In the last announcement, I've had some sketchy ideas for a sequel, probably entitled (not-so-originally) 'N.E.W.T.s'. Three guesses what it's about. And the discussion of Remus's parents during this fic led to a few more plotbunnies. (Bonnie, if you found 'Tacitus' so worthy of a groan, wait until you hear Mr Lupin's name.) So this little universe isn't quite dead yet.   
  
Cheers and thanks again.**  
**  
V - Potter, James; Wednesday, 1:30**  
  
To make no mistake about it, Minerva hardly hated James Potter quite as much as her sternness was about to suggest. She liked the boy. Everyone did. It was almost physically impossible not to, even for the students who had been on the receiving end of one of his hexes on a bad day. There was a small number of students who thought him too arrogant and bigheaded to live, let alone tolerate, and they were appalled that the staff, who had seen enough adolescences to know that boys like Potter often grew out of it to be respectable and constructive adults, didn't share their view. In fact, somehow, his childish silliness made him all the more endearing. Potter was hardly perfect. But he was certainly like - well, loveable.   
  
There was also an element of pity involved. Potter's family had already suffered casualties in the war - in plural, no less, all of three attacks that killed eight Potters, and the Potters had never been actively involved in the war, especially not then.   
  
His parents were sensible people, but they adored their last son and were as much under his spell as anyone. Perhaps they were a bit indulgent with him.   
  
Minerva didn't intend to spoil him any more than he had already been. She congratulated herself on being impartial, even with him. But it was very difficult sometimes not to smile at some remark or prank - he had an extraordinary sense of humour. And it was even more difficult to dislike someone with such an aptitude for Transfiguration - no one in the year came close to matching him, no one in recent years, either.   
  
Potter was destined to grow out of the curse of adolescence; the war, if nothing else, would ensure that.   
  
Some of her rather harsh attitude toward him that day possibly also stemmed from her talk with Thornton. Minerva had always been vaguely aware of a rivalry between James Potter and Severus Snape, but she wasn't aware how serious it had been. She had watched Potter and Black carefully during their class that day, and realised that, indeed, the two of them spent an inordinate amount of time fantasising more ways to torment the Slytherin. Almost certainly Snape returned it for all it was worth, but it was certainly an uneven match.   
  
And, well, _Snivellus_?  
  
Potter was very nearly on time, erring just a bit on the side of tardiness, and perfectly unconcerned. He alone of all the students who had come to see her that year looked as though he cared not a whit how it went.  
  
But then, that was the image Potter presented. Free-and-easy. He did walk rather arrogantly; perhaps there was a swagger in there. It was hard to tell, since, of course, he was toning it down when alone with a teacher. All his features rested very nicely on his face. His hair resembled nothing more than a dragon's nest - always untidy and windswept, something Potter, far from trying to suppress, seemed to encourage. It worked with the girls, after all. To Minerva it made him look like nothing more so than a clown - quite likely that was the allure of it, however.   
  
''Afternoon, my dearest Professor McGonagall,' he said winningly.   
  
'Good afternoon,' Minerva said immovably. 'Why don't you find a seat, Potter.'  
  
Potter's eyes swept the space in front of her. 'You sure do give us a lot of choice in the matter, don't you!' he exclaimed. 'One seat. I'm offended.'  
  
'Oh, I forgot,' Minerva said tartly. 'I'll find one for your ego, too, shall I?'   
  
He looked rather taken aback. Certainly Minerva hadn't been falling over him the past four and a half years, but rarely did she speak this way - unless, of course, he had already done something, and he hadn't just yet.   
  
'Oh wounds, splinters of pain, shooting through mysen like a swallowed broken wand!' Potter exclaimed dramatically, collapsing into the seat to match his theatrics. 'All from the tongue of a witch, sharpened to inconquerable wisdom and painful wit by age - '  
  
'As impressed as I am by your quoting of Juviper, incorrectly, I might add,' Minerva interrupted, 'let's cast matters of my wise and witty tongue, not to mention my age, aside.'   
  
He grinned at her as if to say, _oh yes, it was a good one, Professor Mac, a really good one_. 'Don't you like Juviper, Professor Mac? Everyone loves Ju - '  
  
'That is Professor McGonagall,' Minerva said, trying to keep her voice even. 'Your career, Potter. What have you in mind?'   
  
Potter rolled his eyes. 'Let's face it, Professor ma'am, there's a madman on the loose that likes to target outspoken, talented, not to mention handsome, Gryffindors. I'm going to die by the time I'm twenty.'  
  
So there's where Pettigrew had gotten it from. 'He tends to only worry about Gryffindors who actively fight against him.'  
  
'All right. I'm morbid and masochistic, why don't I actively fight against him?'   
  
He was taking this entirely too flippantly. 'Why don't you tell me what you most want to do? There's very little you can't get into directly after Hogwarts, if your marks keep up, which I have little doubt they will, and thereon you can achieve just about anything. It's a matter of you choosing.'  
  
Potter sniffled dramatically, holding a hand to his heart. 'I'm touched, Professor, honestly. However, if you remain coldhearted and cruel - '  
  
'Potter,' she warned.   
  
' - and continue to withdraw your hand - '  
  
' - I truly have no desire to take points from Gryffindor - '  
  
' - from me, I've decided the best route is to attempt to win your admiration, if not your affections, by honourably fighting the worst menace to the wizarding world, and if I perish bravely in the task, so much the better and more peaceful for my soul, mourning and deprived from the lack of your reciprocated love.' Finished with this bit - Potter, not Juviper - he looked up at her with soulful hazel eyes. Then he stage-whispered conspiratorially: 'Don't worry, Professor Mac - if you take away points, I'll win them back double for us.'   
  
'You win witches from Quidditch, Potter. Fighting in the war' - there she went again! Her own students had added to her vocabulary - 'is not a dating service - or a way to win honour and glory - and if you die and have a body left for your family to weep over, then you're more fortunate than most of those who make the sacrifice.' She surveyed him. Potter had grown a little pale, but he was serious now, at least, and didn't seem wholly surprised to hear this. 'So what had you in mind, Potter? Auror, I suppose?'  
  
He shook his head. 'Too much involvement with the Ministry, and the training's rather rigorous.'  
  
'You could do it, I'm certain - '  
  
But he cut in before she could refer to his records. 'Oh, probably, if I had the patience to wait three years. No, I've looked into something else - kite flyers.'  
  
'Kite flyers,' she repeated. It figured, that Potter would find a way to combine his passion for flying with his natural chivalry. But it was an extremely dangerous occupation, which explained the constant need for people to deliver messages by flight, who would die before letting their message be intercepted. 'It's - quite precarious.' She found her throat was tight.   
  
_It figures_, she fumed mentally. _Thank goodness for Lily Evans! It seems all my other students of this year who had any noticeable amount of intellect won't be putting it to much use!  
_  
In truth, however, she merely hated the thought of seeing the boy in front of her subjected to the same horrendous curses a kite flyer just six months ago had been subjected to. The mercy of death had come very slowly, and the flyer had been in excruciating pain for three days until then.   
  
'Most who volunteer only manage a few missions,' he said coolly, as if reading her mind. 'They aren't overly talented with a wand or a broom. I am. I think I'd last rather longer than them and would do some good that way.'   
  
He did have a point, in spite of the utter lack of humility.   
  
'Kite flyers are also aligned with the Ministry.'  
  
'If I did the training - it's only two months - perhaps I could be of some use to Dumbledore.'  
  
Minerva had to raise an eyebrow. 'This sounds familiar.'  
  
Potter shrugged. 'We all want to do something - who in their right mind wouldn't?' _Oh, you'd be surprised, Potter._ 'And, well, I trust Dumbledore more than the Ministry. That probably sounds familiar too - Sirius and Remus were talking about it one day and that came up. They said pretty much the same thing.' He gave another of those young and cocky grins. 'I was studying, Professor. Couldn't join in the little chat. Transfiguration was ever so much more important.'   
  
More to pass onto Dumbledore, who probably didn't need the vote of confidence - but, on the other hand, it could hardly hurt.   
  
'Let's put the war effort aside for a moment,' she said gently. 'Certainly you still need to look at a potential career.'  
  
He shrugged. 'Not really. Unlike Sirius, I don't have any objections to actually using my inheritance, and when the war bit is over and done with, I'd like to try flying professionally is all.'   
  
'And if that fails?' she persisted. He looked appalled, and she scowled at him. 'There's such a thing as injuries.'   
  
'I'll find something,' he shrugged. 'People _do _get jobs they weren't looking at when they took their O.W.L.s. I'll just do well on the standardised tests is all.'   
  
Minerva had to admit that he would, indeed, probably do exceedingly well without any encouragement (or study) at all, and that very little was going to be closed to him. 'What classes are you looking at for advancement? You'll probably be able to pick and choose.'   
  
Potter shrugged. 'I'll pick and choose after the O.W.L.s.'   
  
Irritated, she frowned. 'Yes, well, that's just you all over, now isn't it, Potter.'   
  
'Hmm?' He seemed genuinely startled, possibly because he was very simple and calm in his sceptism.   
  
'Put it all off till tomorrow, disregard anything you dislike, and an opinion of yourself higher than you could ever fly on your beloved broom,' she returned coolly.   
  
'Hey, it's an opinion that's only encouraged.' He was totally aware and totally unrepentant.  
  
'Even Black put more thought into all of this than you did.'  
  
'Did he?' Potter feigned horror and disgust. 'I wouldn't expect it of him. Mr Black and I shall have to have a long chat on such seriousness. It's very unbecoming.'   
  
'On the contrary, it's more that he's beginning to consider the idea of growing up, and you're not.'   
  
He was mildly stunned. Like with Black, however, the hit didn't last for very long.   
  
She wanted to say a great deal of things, including but far from limited to his bravado, Severus Snape, the real conditions of the war… and the bit with 'Professor Mac'. But as she looked at him, and he looked back at her, too spiritually young to be nervous or afraid, she knew he would absorb nothing - not just yet. When would he be in the condition to listen? In a few years. Perhaps as soon as next month. Perhaps long after he had left Hogwarts behind.   
  
In any case, his ears were deaf.   
  
She sighed. 'That concludes things, Potter.'   
  
'_All_ things?' he asked in horror. 'What of you - and me - and - and _us_?'   
  
'Go bother girls your own age, Potter,' Minerva snapped, and then wondered how much of a can of Flobberworms she had just opened. No, she reasoned, he had been interested enough in that long ago, jokingly and not-so-jokingly.   
  
He grinned wolfishly. 'If you say so, then I shall attempt to bend my broken heart.' Potter departed with a mock bow and flourish that made Minerva suddenly very tired and glad she only had to speak with one more Gryffindor before it was all over for the year.   
  
*  
  
Minerva had stopped talking a while ago, and Dumbledore had kept the room in silence for quite a while now, staring at Fawkes.   
  
'Phoenix,' he came out with, quite abruptly, and Minerva, who had been far away by that point, was brought back to the reality (or semi-reality) of the headmaster's office with a bump.   
  
'What's that?'   
  
'Phoenixes, who die - as everything eventually does - and are born again from their own remains. That is what we are looking for. An Order that recognises that Voldemort' - she flinched - 'has killed their old life but is willing to be born again, drawing in who they are in their old life into a new, harsher one, in the hopes of that dying again and being reborn. That's why,' he concluded with decision, 'it shall be called the Order of the Phoenix.'   
  
Fawkes approved.   
  
The name didn't much matter to Minerva. 'How many are interested?'  
  
'Adding in our five students, whom, from what you tell me, will probably accept, and you and I, that makes a round twenty.'   
  
Twenty witches and wizards against the combined forces of evil. It seemed a bit uneven.   
  
'There will be more,' Dumbledore said with quiet certainty, and Minerva wondered if she was really so transparent. 'I'm not even so certain if that's a blessing - but yes, there will be more.' He glanced up from his intent gaze on Fawkes, shifting it to Minerva. 'My dear Professor McGonagall, you look tired.'   
  
'I am fine, thanks.'   
  
'Gryffindors are by nature tiring. It's our charm.' He was smiling at little at this, able to be amused.   
  
'I must say,' Minerva replied, agreeing with some reluctance, as a woman who never liked to have anyone getting the better of her, 'that, valuable though it was, I've never enjoyed a group of career consultations less.'  
  
**End: sequels are a possibility; canon is the continuation  
  
**


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